


Antibody

by CeruleanHeart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Billy Hargrove Lives, Depiction of PTSD Symptoms, Licking, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 03, Rating will go up, Resurrection, feral!Billy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart
Summary: In another dimension Billy's body knits itself back together, it heals there, changes. But when he finally escapes the Upside Down his mind is fractured. Steve just wants to forget about the summer and his regrets. But there are sightings of a mysterious creature in the woods and he's forced to bring out the old bat once more.When their paths cross again, Billy is barely human but this time Steve will take his chance to make things right again. No matter what it takes. Maybe if he can fix Billy, he can fix himself.





	1. Then and now

**THEN**

_"I'm sorry." he chokes, black bile spilling from the corners of his mouth._

_There are so many things he wants to say suddenly, so much he wants to explain. But the holes in his body are too deep and his lungs collapse._

_His last thoughts, he knows, will be of her. He can’t do the things for her anymore, that he did for a girl he didn’t know. He can’t protect her._

" _Billy!" Max screams "No, Billy! Get up!"_

_He wants to, but he can't. Darkness covers him. He’s out of time._

_._

_._

_._

_Out of time._

_._

_._

_._

_Time._

_._

_._

_._

_The first time, the first beat is agony. The kickstart of a cruel machine, threatening to tear his chest apart from the inside._

_The second one makes his body spasm like an electrocuted corpse._

_The third, the fourth, the fifth, violently squeeze the blood through its vessels until life returns to his limbs._

_The sixth, the seventh, the eighth, the ninth and every heartbeat after, he just feels. Feels the tissue knitting itself together again, bones snapping back into place, feels his veins plumping out and the oxygen returning to his lungs, blowing them up like birthday balloons._

_It feels like dying in reverse._

_For a while, there is no sense of self, just a sense of being flesh. A meat puppet meant to dance to the beat of its inner drum._

_When his conscience finally surfaces from a fathomless, dark pool somewhere deep inside of him, somewhere outside of time, it’s a fickle thing. St. Elmo’s fire licking along the synapses of his brain, sparking a mess of fractured memories. Kaleidoscope-like._

_There is no recognition to any of them, just impression. Shape without form, shade without color, gesture without motion._

_The only thing that’s permanent is that feeling of being one and being many at the same time, the wrongness of both of it._

_He opens his eyes to desolation. A dark and dead world, hues of black and blue, bitter-cold air and decay. There is a sensation of vague recognition, this place is hostile, this place is home. He cannot stay here. He is part of it._

_Waking provides him with the certainty that he is one, after all, divided down to the smallest he can be. Beginning and end. A sense of hurt comes with that realization, the same kind a severed umbilical cord must cause._

_But when he stands, rises from where his body had been splayed out on cold tiles, he knows his shape at least for now, is whole. The shape of a man, strong and intact._

_The place he woke up in is the belly of a deserted hive, comb-like rooms lined up next to each other, stacked on top of each other. A place that should be busy with life but is like everything else here, dead. Tightly enclasped by an endless net of vines or veins. There is no telling what they are._

_Everything here echoes danger, echoes pain. He remembers resistance, he remembers collapsing, disintegrating. Loss._

_He died here. He thinks he remembers that he died as one. But the many that he felt dying with him are not here. He is alone._

_Above him, a glass roof is broken underneath a starless sky. Around him, the air is filled with drifting spores. In the distance thunder rumbles._

**NOW**

The jingling of the opening door catches Steve mid-yawn. He’s always tired these days. Sleep doesn’t come as easy as it used to and shifts at the store can be mind-numbingly boring.

Much to Steve’s dismay, the customer that just entered comes straight to the counter instead of browsing the shelves with the tapes first like most people do. They don’t get a lot of returns this time of day. Steve sends a silent prayer to the heavens that the guy at least remembered to rewind.

“Welcome to Family Video! How may we entertain you today?” he drones his lines on autopilot rubbing the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm.

“Yes, hello.” the man in front of him smiles nervously, he vaguely reminds Steve of Mr. Clarke, his over-enthusiastic science teacher from middle school, with the exception that this guy here has even less hair. He also wears a bow tie in combination with his sweater vest. ”I was wondering if you could help me with directions?”

The man gently places a dog-eared magazine on the counter and points at the picture on the cover. It's a photo of Starcourt Mall with an airbrush painting of an eight-legged alien creature towering above it and shooting lasers from its many eyes edited in. 

**Fate Magazine, Special Edition: Hawkins** it states in bold letters. The main cover line reads “Giant spider from Outer Space” and underneath it, a little smaller, the words “The Truth behind the Starcourt Mall Disaster” are printed. 

“I’m looking for the mall that allegedly burned down.” he explains, air quoting the word _burned down_ , for skeptic emphasis.

Steve sighs. One of _these_ guys. He should have known. The town has been attracting a lot of tourists of a very specific kind ever since it made a nationwide appearance on “Cutting Edge”. Conspiracy enthusiasts, UFO hunters, new-age hippies. All kinds of weirdos. A few of them have even set up a small camp in the nearby woods in hopes of getting in touch with extraterrestrial beings.

Steve clears his throat and pointedly nudges the tip jar across the counter. Robin's way better at squeezing a few bucks out of the poor loons looking for answers they'll never find than he is, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. Minimum wage does that to you. 

The guy in return pushes the magazine closer and starts to sweat, ignoring the not so subtle hint. 

So that’s how it’s going to be like. Steve grits his teeth before he replies, all fake friendliness. 

"Starcourt? Just follow the main road for ten minutes and then go left after the third traffic light. Can't miss it!"

He does not, however, tell the guy that the road will stop about 500 feet in because the area has been closed off completely and that he'll get closer to the building and a better look at it if he takes the back route through the forest. That information is worth at least 5 bucks. 

"Thanks!" the guy beams, nudges his glasses up his nose and gives Steve a clammy handshake before he books it out of the store to meet a bunch of other grown-up nerds in the parking lot. They often travel in packs, Steve has found. Today one of them is wearing an actual tinfoil hat. 

“Good luck with nothing.” Steve mumbles as he watches them drive away. The military had been pretty thorough with removing all traces of the events in July under the guise of a possible radiation leak from a nearby nuclear power plant. 

Steve is pretty sure, none of the theories going around can be possibly as wild as the truth anyway.

"Didn't give him the 5 bucks route?" Robin startles him from his contemplation when she idles up next to him, disposing a batch of rewound tapes on the counter. 

"No tip, no route." Steve shakes his head, face grim and eyes the tip jar.

It isn’t even one quarter-full and Keith always claims the biggest share for himself. Steve and Robin will probably see around two dollars each from it this week. Working at Scoops had been way more lucrative in that regard, nobody tips at a video rental place.

“Mmh at least he left us with something to read." Robin shrugs and hops to sit on the counter next to Steve. “Wow, we got our own Fate edition?

“Oh.” Steve didn’t even notice that the guy forgot his magazine. “You know what this is?”

“Yeah, dingus. It’s a magazine about paranormal phenomena, obviously. They write about UFOs and aliens, telepathy, hauntings, cryptozoology and stuff like that. Conspiracy theories too, I think.”

“Great. The crazies have their own magazine? How do you know stuff like that?”

“Keith reads those, you never noticed? Not sure if I’d call them crazy, though. They’re not that far off with the giant alien spider.” she shrugs “Wanna check what else they got kinda right?”

“Are we really that bored?”

“We absolutely, definitely are that bored, dingus.”

“Alright.” Steve rolls his eyes and opens the magazine. On the first page they find a table of contents and a message from the editor. 

“Boooring.” Robin says and flips it.

Next up is an article about the rumors around the underground base. Those have been hard to kill with all the digging and filling up holes the government had done in the wake of the disaster. But hilariously the headline reads “Lizard people in Hawkins? Secret military base or gate to Agartha?”

“Lizard people, I wish.” Robin snorts, cranking her head to see better “I’d prefer that over the Russians and their stupid laser drill and torture lab.”

“Yeah, no shit. That was scary.”

Steve flips the page with a shudder and tries not to think of giant needles and a creepy general caressing his face, running his fingers through his hair. Those memories go right back into the vault where they belong, nicely and securely locked away.

There’s mostly text he’s too lazy to read on the next two pages, the only visual element is a picture of the mall blueprint they’re both way too familiar with already, so Steve keeps flipping.

And stops dead when the next page stares back at him with what feels like a hundred eyes. It’s like a punch to the gut, seeing their pictures lined up next to each other, filling an entire page. One headshot for each victim of the Mindflayer.

“Shit.” Steve whispers and next to him Robin sucks in a sharp breath.

“Man, what a mood-wrecker.” she shakes her head “God, that’s rough. Seeing them like this. Hard to believe that they’re all gone.”

“Yeah.” Steve can’t tear his eyes off the page, his throat prickles, feels sore and dry as he lets his fingers trail over the faces. They’re all kinds of people, young and old, men and women. A little boy, Chief Hopper, the entire Holloway family.

He stops at one portrait that’s painfully familiar.

“Billy.”

It’s his yearbook picture. Steve recognizes it instantly, he was there the day it was taken, two people behind him in the line. The whole student body had been meticulously sorted by alphabet, everyone dolled up, Steve included. Billy had shown up in a leather jacket and a white t-shirt like he was Danny from Grease and for once his hair had actually looked decent. Steve doesn’t know why he remembers those details but suddenly it’s all there, alive and vivid like it was only yesterday.

“Max’s brother, right? You guys were friends?” Robin asks, leans over the magazine and squints at the photo.

It startles Steve out of that memory and he shakes his head, both to deny and get rid off the mental image of Billy Hargrove, alive and laughing, joking with someone ahead of him. 

“No. No, we weren’t friends. Kind of the contrary, actually. But we were on the basketball team together. He was sort of an ass, but a really good player. I’ll give him that.” 

“Oh.” Robin says “You knew him better than I did, then. I just remember all the girls fawned over that hot guy from Cali. But I don’t think he was really interested, if you know what I mean.”

Steve shrugs, he’s heard about that rumor that Billy was into older women but never really gave it much thought. What Hargrove did in the sack wasn’t any of his business and after Steve had graduated they barely saw each other at all.

Until…

“I rammed his car that night.” he mumbles, more to himself.

“No doy.” Robin nudges him in the shoulder “Did you forget I was part of that stunt?! He was going to run Nancy over, remember? Shit, that was one hell of a night… Can’t believe we made it through somehow..”

Steve nods, eyes still fixed on Billy’s picture. It’s not a great shot, yearbook photos rarely are, his mouth is opened a bit and his eyes seem too big like he got surprised by the flash. Steve doesn’t know why he’s so fascinated by his face suddenly, why it hurts to look at it.

“El said he was in there the whole time. That he tried to fight it, till the end.” it’s like his mouth has a mind of its own, answering his questions before he can ask them.

Robin goes silent for a moment, then her hand lands on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes it in a comforting gesture.

“That’s what matters, right?” she gives him a sympathetic look “He was really brave, in the end. He died a hero, saving El. Who knows? Maybe he even saved us all.”

Steve nods again. The headline over the pictures reads “More than 30 dead or missing, but where are the bodies?”

Closed caskets. All the funerals had been closed caskets for obvious reasons, even Billy’s. Steve remembers that day they had all been laid to rest in one big ceremony, Max’s tears, the whole town in black and assembled at the cemetery, the new mayor holding a speech, stars and stripes.

“Do you think we could’ve saved him if we tried?” his voice comes out hoarse, the prickling in his throat still hasn’t stopped.

“I don’t know Steve, we were stuck in a Russian underground base most of the time. And after that, there was a giant meat spider that tried to kill us all. We had to take care of that one first. 

“No, I don’t mean… I don’t mean us, just in general. Maybe before even, when we knew something was wrong. Maybe it wouldn’t have come that far then. When Will got possessed everyone teamed up to get the Mindflayer out of him. With Billy… I mean we kept hurling fireworks at that thing but none of us spared a moment to try and I don’t know? Keep him alive I guess?” he shrugs helplessly “It’s crazy, I didn’t even like him but... he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Steve” Robin says gently “Don’t beat yourself up about it. We weren’t really there for that part. There’s nothing that could’ve been done by the time we got involved. It’s all in the past now, let him rest in peace.”

“I… Yeah. I should. It’s just… It gives me a weird feeling that kids our age keep dying in this town, you know? First Barb, now him. That girl, the lifeguard, too.” he replies, but secretly Steve thinks they were there for a small part of it at least. That he left Billy behind in a burning car, like he left Barb behind when he should have at least seen her out the door that night. That saving one of the flayed would have been better than saving none at all. “Sometimes it makes me wonder who’s next,”

“Don’t be glum.” Robin sighs. “You can’t change the past. All you can do is look forward.”

And then she flips the page for him, covers the faces, covers Billy’s eyes staring at Steve so intensely. The new one that’s opened is bright and cheerful, a double-spread ad for a UFO board game. Steve breathes in and breathes out.

“You’re right.” he says when his throat stopped burning.

“I’m always right.” Robin grins, looking maybe a tad too cheerful to be completely sincere and pats the stack of tapes she brought with her earlier “C’mon. Help me sort these babies back into their shelves.”

Steve leaves the magazine behind on the counter and tries not to think about it for the rest of the day. When he locks up in the evening, it’s gone. Maybe Robin threw it out after she saw how upset it made him. She’s mindful like that sometimes.

But all things that keep happening to Steve considered, he should’ve known that this wasn’t the last he’ll see of it.

He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised when later that night, while he’s already kicked up his feet in his room and wants to do nothing more than relax to the mindless background noise of a some evening program on TV, his walkie talkie suddenly crackles and Dustin’s voice sounds through.

“Steve!” he shouts “Do you copy?! We have a code red! Come to the Wheeler’s house ASAP! I repeat, we have a CODE RED.”

**THEN**

_Outside the air is even colder but his body, he realizes, burns hot like a furnace._

_The space in front of the building is full of vehicles, scattered haphazardly across it. Fire trucks and ambulances, jeeps and helicopters all seemingly frozen in action and then left like this to rot away in the silence of this twilight world._

_He recognizes, can identify the shape of things and their purpose but the greater meaning, the context and his own function in this scene stay incomprehensible, all answers slip away from him as soon as he tries to grasp them._

_One car sparks familiarity, it’s sleek and streamlined with a dark, glossy finish. He runs a hand across the curved roof when he reaches it but the scattered fragments of his memories won’t come together, there is too much interference too much noise when the images start flooding his head._

_It makes him dizzy, nauseous with a sudden migraine. He groans and clutches his head, grits his teeth until the seizure passes and blissful emptiness returns._

_He’s got his instincts only to rely on to survive, and they tell him to get away from here to seek shelter. The seizure has left him weak, pulsing with that heat, he knows on a visceral level, does not belong here. He needs to find a spot to hide it, to recover away from impulses, to stay safe and keep safe._

_Keep safe… protect. Protect someone, something…._

_In the distance, the thunder grows weaker, above the treeline of a dead forest only the last flashes of a receding storm light the scene. He makes his way towards the treeline with staggering steps._

**NOW**

If someone would’ve told Steve two years ago that one night he’d sneak into the Wheeler’s house, not to see Nancy but a bunch of kids instead, he would have laughed in their face. But here he is, climbing through a basement window while Mike nags him to make less noise

“My parents will kill us if they know we’re meeting up so late.” he hisses and Steve wishes that wouldn’t sound so fucking cringy.

The other kids are already assembled around a small table, looking at him expectantly while he brushes off his jeans.

“What took you so long?!” Dustin complains “We have a very serious problem!”

He’s waving something at Steve that looks all too familiar. Fate Magazine, the alien spider and the lizard people. Steve wishes he could catch a break just once in his life.

“That is our problem? That’s the reason I sneaked past Karen and Ted like some kind of burglar?!” he groans.

“Uh, yes?!” Max says and rolls her eyes “Hello? There’s some shocking new intel in that! Robin said you guys already read it!”

“Robin gave that to you?”

“Yeah, she was about to throw it in the trash just the moment when we left the Arcade!” Dustin shrugs “It was a stroke of fate, man!”

“I can’t believe you shitheads called me here because of that stupid magazine!” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and draws in a deep calming breath “You said it was a code red! I thought you guys had demodogs in your backyard or whatever!”

“Did you not read the articles?! It’s almost as bad!” Lucas makes an exasperated gesture.

“No, I did not read the articles! Why would I read articles written by some guys who think lizard people have taken control over Hawkins?”

“How do you know that if you didn’t read the articles?” Max wants to know and crosses her arms. Steve can’t help but think that she and Lucas are a perfect match, born skeptics.

“I read the headlines, ok? They’re like way off with all of their theories. I don’t know what all this fuss is about! We already know the truth!” Steve gives a weary sigh “Listen guys, I’ve had a long day. I’m going home now.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Steve, you have to look at his.”

Dustin flips open the magazine and leafs through it till he finds what he’s looking for and shoves it in Steve’s face. It’s an article pretty far at the back of the magazine, only one page long, tacked on like an afterthought. 

“The Hawkins Wanderer, ghost, alien or cryptid?” Steve reads and skims the rest of the page quickly. There’s the grainy photo of a bulky man-shaped shadow between a bunch of trees printed next to the text. Some passages are circled with red marker, Steve picks up accounts of sightings of an unidentified humanoid creature in the Hawkins woods and stories of campers missing equipment, turned over trash cans, plundered fields and chicken stolen from their coop.

“Is that your code red? Some kind of Bigfoot creature?” he asks, honestly baffled. 

“Steve, listen! The article says there have been more than 20 sightings of the Wanderer on the outskirts of town and in the forest in the last three months!” Dustin taps his finger on the picture “They come from multiple people, Steve! Something is out there.”

“Yeah! Probably some drifter going through people’s trash cans like _someone else_ I know.” Steve gives Dustin a sharp look.

“That’s what we thought at first too. But then it got interesting.” Lucas explains, and leans closer, lowering his voice as he continues “In some cases when he showed up there have been reports of levitating objects and blackouts, even battery-powered flashlight that started flickering like crazy. That ring any bells?” 

“What… what are you trying to tell me.” Steve frowns, the kids are all looking at him like he’s missing a very important detail. “Come on, guys! What is this all about?”

“We’re thinking…” Mike says and makes a dramatic pause “...it could be a demogorgon.” 

“A what? Oh no, no, no! Impossible! Not that again.” Steve shakes his head and laughs nervously “That’s crazy!”

“Hear us out!” Dustin chimes in, he’s got the same facial expression he had when he picked up that transmission on his Cerebro. Which is _not_ a good sign. “Down in the Russian base Erica and I found that room! And they… they had these huge cages in there. Like thick steel bars and all! And remember that electroshock rod?! The thing that looked like a cattle prod, but a hundred times stronger? That’s where we got it from!” 

Of course, Steve remembers the prod, how could he not. That thing saved his fingernails and probably even more. 

“Yeah, ok! I remember! So what?”

“So make the connection! All that stuff must’ve been there for a reason! You don’t just keep cages and weapons like that around if you don’t want to put something in them and keep it in check, right? Some big dangerous beasts? Let’s say demogorgon level beasts?”

“I mean there must be some kind of reason, yeah.”

“So what, if one of them escaped? A demogorgon that came through the gate. And now it’s stuck here and prowling around in the woods… it’s just turned over trash cans and missing chicken and poached game for now but it could eat an actual person!”

“Wasn’t the gate closed though?How could it survive? Did you think of that?”

“The gate in Hawkins was closed, yes.” Lucas agrees “But who says the Russians only have one of these drills?”

The idea alone makes Steve’s stomach drop. But it’s definitely a possibility, the Upside Down has a way to sneak its way back into their world over and over again and it’s always aided by the sheer stupidity of science.

He groans and looks at the photo again, studies it more intently this time, looking for signs to refute the theory. He really, really doesn’t want the thing to be a demogorgon. All he wants is to be left alone by all this paranormal bullshit and live his life. Even if that means working at Family Video till the day he retires.

“I don’t know.” he says after another minute or so, trying to remember what the demogorgon had looked like when they had fought it two years ago at the Byers’ house “It looks more like a man, to be honest. He seems too short to be a demogorgon and a bit too hmmm… stocky?”

“Stocky?” Max frowns and peers over Steve’s shoulder to get another look “Yeah, maybe…”

“Uh-huh! That thing was super bony and wiry and it had these really weird long limbs. Such an ugly fucker! But this guy here…” Steve taps the picture enthusiastically “Look at his shape... he’s _built!_ See those thick arms? All muscle! And from what I can tell he’s got like pretty massive quads as well.”

“Oh my god.” Mike groans and rolls his eyes skywards “Steve thinks the cryptid is hot.”

“Shut up, Mike!” Lucas makes a face and slaps him across the chest before Steve gets the chance to say something snarky. Nancy’s little brother is still the same annoying brat as he used to be, puberty only made him worse. “That’s not funny!”

“Yeah, shut up Mike.” Dustin agrees “Steve’s got a point. The demogorgon was a skinny son of a bitch.”

“Ok. But what about the telekinetic powers? What about the flickering lights?” Max interjects, ignoring the boy’s antics. She’s definitely Steve’s favorite next to Dustin. “That’s totally a sign something’s not right with whoever or whatever the Wanderer is.” 

“Yeah. It all basically screams Upside Down.” Lucas nods “I mean.... If it’s not a demogorgon, it could be one of the Flayed. Someone we didn’t know got infected. They could be building again.”

“Shit…” Steve sighs and rubs his face, tries to collect his thoughts “That would be even worse. Do you guys really want to go into the woods and hunt monsters again? Without your special reinforcement?”

“I mean. Somebody’s gotta do it!” Dustin deadpans and the others nod in agreement.

“Last time we didn’t take the signs seriously enough the Mindflayer almost destroyed the town and…” Max starts but then goes silent in the middle of her sentence, she blinks hard a couple of times before she continues “... I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.”

Steve wants to reach out and hug her, comfort her the same way Robin had comforted him earlier. They all have their regrets and he knows Max is a strong girl but she has to shoulder a lot of grief all on her own. But the moment passes and she snaps out of it again, slams her small fist on the table with a smile.

“Let’s hunt that thing down.”

“Let’s do it!” Mike agrees “We should bring Nancy too, she’s pretty good with a rifle.”

“What about Robin? You think she’s up for some investigating again, Steve?”

“Yeah sure, why not? Let’s bring in the whole team.” Steve sighs, he’s given up any hope of just brushing the subject off at this point. 

Monster hunting with the gang it is, then. He really hopes the worst they’ll have to deal with is some poor hobo who’s set up camp for the summer in the woods.

Maybe this time, they’re lucky. But just in case, Steve’s gonna dust off his trusted old friend, the nail studded bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Billy, coming back from the dead is though!! Next chapter their timelines will re-align again, don't worry! ;)
> 
> Anyway I was overcome with the urge to write feral!Billy, so here we are! The boys will find a way to heal each other again but first, some more struggles. 
> 
> The line _shape without from, shade without color..._ is lifted from T.S. Eliot's poem The Hollow Men.
> 
> Hope you liked this first chapter, if you did a comment or a kudos are always very appreciated! ♥  
> You can find me on tumblr for more writing, all things Harringrove and general 80s aesthetics [@higho85](https://highon85.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we have a slight canon divergence in terms of timelines. In the universe of this fic the Byers and El moved a bit earlier around one month after the events in season 3 in August. The NOW parts of this chapter are set in the following November. 
> 
> **WARNING** for graphic depiction of sickness, fever, cramps, vomiting. I didn't put these in the fic tags because they won't be recurring themes but if you're squeamish or get triggered by this make sure to proceed with caution. Warnings apply for the entire first "THEN" portion of the chapter!

**THEN**

_The trees are skeletons with roots, their sharp bone fingers snagging at his clothes, his skin as he stumbles onwards, tears through the undergrowth._

_Searing and unrelenting, the heat keeps building in waves and each time another one hits him it brings a surge of memory flashes. Faces, voices, scenes flicker on and off like strobe lights._

_Nothing he sees inside his head makes sense. He simply doesn’t understand, all he knows is that he needs to keep on going, needs to hide and cower. So he stumbles forward, pushes on. Mindless, like an unstoppable machine._

_Finally, a shape peels out of the dark in front of him. A house, a home between the trees. He heads towards it, following his instinctual drive for shelter. When he barges through the front door a feeling like a déja-vue washes over him, but he doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it as a cramp hits his stomach so hard he topples over with the shock and collapses, lands face first on rotten and slimy carpet._

_With a groan, he tries to get up again but another cramp makes his body convulse in pain. For a moment his jaw clenches so hard his molars threaten to shatter from it, but the next he spasms again, heaves and retches until finally the last wave that’s been building crashes and he hurls, spews steaming hot vomit into the darkness of the hallway._

_Again and again, his body seems to want to purge itself from its insides, violently, until there’s nothing left to throw up._

_When finally the puking stops, he collapses again, body going soft with exhaustion for a moment. The substance pooled in front of him is black, sticky and gooey like liquid tar, but completely odorless. It looks alien and dangerous, seems to slither away from him across the ground, to seep between the floorboards almost on its own volition, like he just dispelled an alive toxin._

_He gathers some energy to lift himself up enough to crawl, finds another doorway, another room. A room with a bed in it. With the last bit of strength, he’s got left he pulls himself up by the bedpost and falls onto the dirty sheets._

_The world around him spins as the fever overtakes him completely, rattles his bones and burns away all that was left of his reason. His senses, however, are heightened to the verge of frenzy, he hears the streaming of his blood through every single vessel, feels the way his cells split, multiply and die over and over again, sees the fireworks of his synapses blink in the dark behind his eyes._

_His nerves and his muscles feel raw like he’s been turned inside out._

_The raging heat makes his pores bleed black sweat. It soaks into the rotten sheets, a dark stain blossoming around his shaking frame and slowly spreading. When tears start falling from his eyes, they too are black and cloud his vision, blind him. He screams in horror and in pain but the voice that comes out is inhuman, the cry only, of a beast._

**NOW**

The map that is spread out on the hood of Steve’s BMW shows very little town and a concerning amount of forest. There’s just so much fucking green. The ink of it washed out and official-looking.

It’s Sunday afternoon and it has taken three whole days to get the entire crew together. But now they’re all here, looking at the forest on the map in front of them and having its real vastness, the rich, green darkness of it in their back. They’re right at the edge of the town in the empty lot that the Fair Market used to be in before it was torn down last spring.

Three adults and four kids all geared up to hunt down a possibly deadly beast. Steve can’t believe this is what his weekends are like these days, until not so long ago his schedule used to be filled with dates and parties and he never had to worry about a single thing. 

“How are we supposed to find it in there?” he asks with little enthusiasm and gestures vaguely at the map. 

With so much forest to comb through and at the pace they’re progressing, they won’t find the Wanderer until the next century. But Steve sure hopes his plans for the year 2000 won’t involve any Upside Down monsters. 

Lucas squints at him from where he’s bend over the map, he brought out his camo headband which, Steve knows, is a sign that he means _business_.

“Ok, so after analyzing the article and talking to a couple of people, we pinned down the approximate locations where the Wanderer was sighted.” he explains patiently, pointing out a row of x’s someone has drawn on the map. “As you all can see, the highest density can be found in about a two miles radius.” 

He draws a circle around it, using the same red marker.

“We’re here now.” Mike, who’s about an inch away from actually sitting on the hood, adds and taps a spot just inside the top of the circle.

Steve can’t help but notice that his own house too is at the periphery of it. A cold shudder runs down his spine as he involuntarily thinks of grainy pictures of his pool and a dark shape with claws behind Barbara Holland.

“He comes pretty close to town, doesn’t he?” he mumbles, a lump forming in his throat.

“Concerningly close, yes.” Lucas agrees.

Everyone is already closely assembled around the map but they all take another step forward at that to get a closer look at the situation.

"What about these?" Robin asks after a moment and points at a few other crosses marked in blue that are strewn randomly around other parts of the town and the woods “Are those the sightings that don’t match the pattern?”

Dustin shakes his head. He’s got the magazine tucked under one arm, it looks way worse than three days ago, sticky notes of all colors peek out from between the pages and the cover is only hanging on thanks to the excessive use of scotch tape.

“For the blue ones there’s no visual confirmation of the cryptid.” he says and shrugs “Just traces that are assumed to be connected to it. Like Mrs. Brewster’s raided chicken pen and a couple of ransacked dumpsters. Mrs. Marson allegedly is missing some laundry.”

“I see.” Robin nods, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I guess you’re right, we can exclude these for now.”

“Exactly. There’s no need for immediate investigation.” Lucas sounds pleased, taps the circled crosses again “So let’s focus our operation on this area. All in favor?”

There’s some collective mumbling of agreement.

“Ok, great!” Dustin rubs his hands, grinning wide and already visibly bursting with excitement. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen another kid that’s so eager to grasp any possible chance to die a gruesome death. “If we split the area into 3 sectors between us we can...”

“No. We’re not splitting up.”

Nancy has been quiet since she arrived, her mouth set in a hard line, boots laced up and hair pulled back in a ponytail, but now she sets down her rifle next to the map, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“Out of the question. That’s too dangerous. The area is way too big and we’re at a disadvantage if we try to deal with it in its own territory.” 

“We won’t be able to cover enough ground if we stay together! And we can look after ourselves!” Mike argues with a pout that only earns him a stern look from his sister.

“We won’t have to if we make it come to us.” she says calmly.

Steve has seen that look on her before, knows what it means when she gets like that, so determined and so serious.

“No, no, no!” he crosses his arms and shakes his head vigorously “I know what you’re trying to suggest here! I tried that twice and each time we almost died!!”

Dustin’s face is glowing now, he’s been bobbing his head in approval the whole time Nancy was talking. 

“Almost, Steve! Emphasis on almost. We didn’t actually die and we’re better prepared this time.” he grins holding up the deadly cattle prod he brought with him.

Nancy nods.

“We don’t have to catch or take it down on the first try. Back then when the Demogorgon first appeared we didn’t manage to kill it either, but we injured it and the blood trail it left helped Joyce and Hopper locate Will in the end. ”

“Nancy’s right!” Max agrees, she’s standing on her tiptoes having eyed the map over her boyfriend’s shoulder for most of the discussion “We just have to find it and figure out what it is! If it’s one of the Flayed, it wouldn’t do just to kill it. We’d want it to take us to their hiding place.”

“Good thinking, as always Max!” Lucas beams at her, his face going soft with adoration.

Dustin rolls his eyes skywards. ”Save that for later, guys! We’re on a mission here!”

Steve lets out a deep sigh. Not for the first time, he wishes he would’ve upgraded his weapon from the spiked bat to something deadlier at some point. But it’s too late for regrets now, unless they want to sit around and wait for another day when everyone is free at some point next week, they only have a few hours of daylight left to set up a trap.

“Should I just get a bucket of meat again?” he grumbles, so obviously and easily overruled.

Dustin shakes his head as he fumbles with his magazine, some of his notes flutter down to the ground when he opens it.

“Not sure if it would take the bait. It doesn’t seem to be drawn to blood this time. It’s raiding trash cans and camping sites mostly and it’s possible that it was the fox that got into Mrs. Brewster’s chicken pen after all.” he says, nose scrunched up in a quizzical expression.

“So what do we do? Set up a tent somewhere around here?” Steve frowns and points at where the crosses are closest together on the map “We make a fire, grill some hot dogs and hope the Wanderer smells it, takes the bait and shows up?”

There’s a moment of silence in which everyone just stares at Steve and he already begins to worry that he’ll have to explain that he meant it as a joke, obviously, when Nancy speaks.

“That’s kind of brilliant, actually.”

“Yeah, man! Good idea.” Dustin pats Steve on the back. “Worst case we spend a night out camping and you know with bonfire magic.

He wiggles his eyebrows at Steve and casts suggestive side glances at Robin. Every now and then Dustin still tries to hook them up, but Steve is waiting for the right time and Robin’s permission to explain to him why that is not going to happen. He also refrains from pointing out that the actual worst case would be one in which they all die. That scenario has become too familiar to everyone at this point, to shock some sense into them.

“We can set up tripwires around the camp so we know when he’s coming. Nancy and I brought the bear traps as well, they’re in the trunk.” Mike suggests, already invested in the plan like the rest of them, it seems.

“I hoped I wouldn't need those again but now I’m glad we kept them.” Nancy says with a wry little smile.

“And I can set up a tent with one hand tied behind my back. We used to go camping at Lake Michigan every year. It all comes together, dingus.“ Robin nudges Steve in the ribs and grins “All _you_ need to do now is look pretty and is swing your bat when it counts.” 

**THEN**

_When he wakes, the fever is gone but he is aching with thirst._

_His throat is parched, his mouth dry, his tongue not more than a dusty rag behind his teeth. The thirst is so immense it threatens to consume him, makes him go from awake to frenetic in less than a heartbeat._

_How long he’s been here or if time has passed at all, the very concept of it, all that feels irrelevant in comparison to his needs._

_He needs water, he needs to drink. Now._

_When he tries to move he realizes that thick vines have curled around him while he was asleep, holding his body in a tight embrace, but when he pushes himself up on the bed they tear easily, aren’t much stronger than spider silk._

_Despite the thirst, he feels better. The cramps and fever are gone and even though his legs are a bit shaky when he stands his body feels lighter somehow, cleansed._

_The vines have taken over the whole room, trapped him in a cocoon, covering every surface, the windows, the door, it’s impossible to tell where they once were. But it doesn’t matter, his mind, his reason is worn thin, frayed out on his edges, threadbare but his instincts shine bright and sharp like a beacon through the muddy fog in his brain._

_His nostrils flared he sniffs the air, pics up the scents of his surroundings. The stench of decay and rot, mildew and decomposing wood are overwhelming but underneath it, faint and weak but clearly there, is the smell of life. Greens and sunshine, just outside of the wall. Not here, not this place, somewhere on the other side of it._

_It’s the place he knows his body belongs to, with its warmth and its hunger and its thirst, he can feel it in the marrow of his bones._

_Following his first impulse, he steps towards one of the walls, rips off some of the vines. Others slither away as if fleeing in pain, leaving him with a clear patch of wallpaper._

_There, behind that._

_His heart beats hard and fast as he presses his palms flat against the surfaces and pushes. A low pulse reverberates through his hands and the wall ripples beneath it. He pushes harder until it changes, until the matter itself reaches another phase of aggregation, turns soft and tender like a membrane._

_His hands sink in all the way to his wrists and he keeps on pushing, further, further until something rips with an ugly, wet sound. His fingers find the edges of the tear and for a second he feels the whole world around him quiver. The grip of his hands is strong and unrelenting as he keeps on pulling with all he’s got, muscles straining in his arms, his back and suddenly it gives and rips open. An ugly, brutal gash but through it light falls into the room like a golden lance and he stumbles forward, into it through the hole in the wall._

_On the other side, it’s so bright, he is blinded for a moment. On the other side, it’s warm._

_When he can see again the hole behind him is already closing again like the mouth of an open wound, heals itself in the same manner the hole inside his chest had healed. Until the seams disappear like it was never there._

_He’s still in the same house but on this side of the wall, all the rooms are empty. On this side, it’s no longer a home._

_This realization tells him nothing, he only knows his thirst and he lets his nose lead him to water. Finds it in a room full of appliances, he can’t remember the purpose of, on the bottom of a deep white bowl. He scoops it out with his hands, drinks and drinks until he’s almost sick from all the water but finally, his thirst is quenched._

_A noise outside startles him. He stands and peers through the narrow bathroom window._

_There are people out there, a bunch of kids, already driving away on their metal frames with two wheels. Just a single boy stays behind for a moment, dark-haired, pale, tall and lanky, looking back at the house over his shoulder._

_He can’t see him from where he’s standing but this moment, the possibility of getting seen, discovered, fills him with some sort of primal fear. He needs to keep away from these kids, from people. Terrible, terrible things have happened in the past because he mingled with others. The things that hurt him, the things that split and shattered him before he lost all memories of them._

_When the boy is gone he leaves the empty house and runs. Back into the forest._

**NOW**

The campfire looks cozy and warm in the waning evening light, the tent inviting. Steve can smell the hotdogs all the way to where they are hiding under a camo net they hug up between two trees. 

There’s another, sweeter smell as well. Someone is making smores. Steve is a little bit jealous.

“I should be down there with you to defend you guys in case things heat up you know?” he says into his walkie-talkie.

“You’re perfect where you are, Steve.” a voice crackles through the speaker, Steve can’t tell who it is Mike or Lucas “We need you and Dustin on the lookout. Over.”

Dustin snatches the walkie-talkie from Steve with a disapproving head shake. Steve raises his brows and mouths ‘what?!’ at him.

"You can rely on us! We’ve got everything under control over here. Over." Dustin replies, ever so proud of having an important duty.

"We'll send Robin and Lucas in two hours to relieve you! Over and out." the voice on the other end says and then the crackling stops and the walkie-talkie goes silent.

"We had to get all tactical about this, didn't we?" Steve sighs and rolls onto his back, looking up into the darkening sky, he clicks his flashlight on and off again a couple of times "The tripwires and the bear traps weren't enough, huh?" 

They had spent more than an hour setting those up around the camp and he really doesn’t think an additional lookout post was absolutely necessary, but Dustin had been quick to volunteer both of them for the first shift. At least if the Wanderer really shows up, they’ll hardly miss him now. Also, the thing is definitely in for a surprise. 

“We have a really important job here, Steve! If we’re all inside the camp, who’s gonna keep track of all the movement outside of it? Think of us as the sentinel! We’re keeping the settlement safe.”

“Yes, yes!” Steve groans and rubs his eyes, the kids have definitely seen too many action movies, he’s gotta start watching what they rent out at Family Video more closely “We keep an eye out, warn them if anything approaches, act as backup. I got it.”

Quite honestly, he’s just bored and also a little bit cold. They’re all bundled up and brought a thick sleeping bag to warm up in, if necessary, but it’s the beginning of November and sitting around without moving much makes the chill creep through all of his layers in no time.

"You think he's gonna show up?" he wonders aloud after a while. 

Dustin, who’s still on high alert, just shrugs as he peers through his binoculars into the woods and then pans back to check on what their friends are doing. 

“Hard to say. Seems like he’s a bit of a reclusive guy but the camping season is over so it’s not like he’s got a whole lot of options besides us and if I had the choice between eating trash and those delicious smelling hot dogs…” he chuckles. 

“Great. So we have nothing.”

“Negative.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Steve rolls to his side and props himself up on his elbow, shines the flashlight in Dustin’s face for a second before dropping it at his side.

“It’s an ‘I don’t know’, Steve. We’ll have to wait and see.” Dustin replies and sets down his binoculars “If you’re bored, takes these and keep watch while I go pee over there.”

He pushes the binoculars against Steve’s chest and nods towards a fir tree with a thick trunk a few feet away.

“Yes, sir!” Steve rolls his eyes and takes the field glasses, he figures it’s better than doing nothing.

While Dustin stomps across roots and dead leaves to get to his tree Steve adjusts the focus setting and does a little spying of his own. 

Down in the camp, the kids are sitting around the fire, laughing and chatting away. Steve was right about the smores, Max is in the middle of devouring one, licking her sticky fingers happily. Robin is with them, watching over a couple of hot dogs that are roasting on their sticks over the fire.

Steve has to look a bit harder to find Nancy she’s a few steps away from the others, rifle propped on her shoulder and patrolling along the periphery of the camp.

It’s gotten pretty dark in the last few minutes and looking at the fire too long has blinded Steve a bit, he can’t really see anything that’s going on in the darker parts of the forest between the trees so he sets down the binoculars for a second and squeezes his eyes shut.

“How’s it going over there?” he shouts in Dustin’s general direction. 

He’s still behind the tree, only the cattle prod he's propped up against it next to him is visible, gleams silvery in the last stray rays of the evening light. Steve hopes the moon comes out soon or else they can scrap their plans for tonight.

“It’s going!” Dustin shouts back “Almost done!”

Steve mumbles something about shy bladders and makes to pick up the binoculars again when suddenly, down where the others are, the campfire makes a loud pop and spits sparks into the night like a tiny erupting volcano before it goes out. Snuffed like a candle flame. 

The kids scream, high pitched and terrified, and then there’s a gunshot. Nancy’s firing at something in the darkness. By the time another once cracks through the forest, Steve is already on his feet, grabs his bat with one hand and his flashlight with the other and runs.

“Steve, wait!” Dustin yells behind him but he doesn’t listen, he’s got to get to the kids. 

Leaves and sticks fly up around him where his feet hit the ground hard as he storms towards the camp. He’s got to get there he’s got to protect-

The tripwire bites into his shin. It’s sharp and it fucking hurts like hell just from hitting it with the force of the momentum, feels like it could slice right through his leg. Steve goes down hard, falls flat on his face both flashlight and bat are knocked from his hands by the impact and skitter across the forest floor.

For a moment he lies there dazed, but then he pushes himself up again with a curse, spitting leaves and forest soil. It’s completely dark around him, pitch black except for the silvery cone of light his torch shines across the forest floor a few feet ahead. His bat is nowhere in sight.

“Fuck!” Steve grinds his teeth in pain and frustration and then shouts into the dark “Is everyone ok?”

There are voices and noises somewhere ahead of him, he must be close to the camp but he can’t make out anything in the dark. On his hands and knees, he feels around for his bat but then gives up and crawls over to where his flashlight lies on the ground.

Finally a voice, unmistakably Robin, calls.

“We’re ok! The fire just went out! Nancy saw something outside the camp but it was only a deer. Where are you now?” 

“I’m over here! Stay where you are I’m coming!” Steve shouts back and then turns around “Dustin, you good over there?!”

“Splendid!!” Dustin’s voice sounds farther away than Steve would’ve thought but he lets his cattle prod spark up for a moment to show that he’s ok and armed and that at least is reassuring enough for Steve.

He picks up his flashlight and gets back on his feet. The pain in his leg where he hit the wire flares up again and throbs through his flesh. Steve shines the light down his pant leg and sees that the wire cut through his jeans, there’s a small dark spot on the fabric. Blood.

The flashlight starts to flicker. Annoyed Steve taps it against his thigh a couple of times until it stops. He’s relieved when it does, now would be the worst time for the batteries to die.

He shines the light in a half-circle, having lost his sense of direction after the fall. The camp is nowhere in sight but he can still hear the others somewhere close. He makes a half turn and suddenly the light falls on the shape of a person, standing maybe 15 feet away between the trees.

But before Steve can make out who it is, the flashlight starts to flicker again as they move closer.

“Dustin?” Steve asks and squints into the dark “Is that you?!”

There is no reply, only a sound that wafts over to him on a white cloud of breath. A low, guttural growl. 

As Steve’s blood freezes in his veins, the beam of the flashlight starts to dance in his shaking hand. It skitters over the figure and the trees around it, restless with Steve’s terror. On and off and on and off.

Steve blinks once and the person is gone. A branch snaps. The flashlight goes on, off, on, off, on/off/on/off/on... off.

On.

In front of him, so close that Steve can feel warm, moist breath hit his face is no beast, but a man that’s as close to one as any human could possibly become.

He’s dressed in rags that hang in shreds off the thick frame of his body, muscles bunching under the exposed skin of his arms and shoulders, poised for a fight, tense and ready to attack. Steve is staring at a mane of wild, long hair that hangs into a face streaked, almost blackened with dirt in tangled strands, matted and filthy. He looks into eyes that flicker blue in the beam of the flashlight, like the hottest part of a flame and just as erratic, crazy. 

The rest of the man is unrecognizable but Steve would know those eyes everywhere, has seen them too many times in his nightmares to ever forget about them. Billy Hargrove’s eyes.

Steve screams, Billy bares his teeth in a snarl, the bulb of the flashlight explodes and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for making Billy drink from a toilet. I promise, things will get better soon!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you did a comment or a kudos always makes my day! ^3^~♥
> 
> here is also a moodboard for this chapter which you can find [HERE](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/186581941966/rating-going-e-hurtcomfort-feralbilly-in) on my Harringrove and 80s aesthetics tumblr, in case reblogging is your thing. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

_He has taken before. There is a vague echo of the long-gone compulsion to collect and build that haunts him sometimes and stares back at him with eyes he doesn’t dare to meet in dreams._

_But all this time the urge had been dormant, forgotten in his waking moments._

_Until now._

_He’s still thrumming with it, a low hum underneath his skin reverberating in his bones, that irresistible pull he had to follow almost against his will. It’s a need, something close to desperation, a savage hunger to have, to take and keep and be whole again._

_The limp body nestled against his chest hardly weighs anything to him as he clutches him tighter, draws him closer, one arm securely looped underneath the bend of his knees the other one circling his back._

_He, the boy, is not broken, just sleeping, his breath softly brushing the side of his neck where his head slumps against his shoulder. His heartbeat is strong, in harmony with his own. He didn’t harm him, gave him just a little push. Not to kill, not to hurt, just to stun, to take him out for a little while. Just long enough so he can disappear with him into the night, let it swallow them and escape to safety._

_He has taken before. He never meant to take again._

_Until he found him. Alone, almost blind in the dark, the smell of his blood, his fear a sharp tangy note in the crisp night air. Wounded and shaking. Shaking like prey, so pale in the glow of the light he clutched like it could protect him from the horrors that lurk in the night, that for a moment he’d thought the boy was just another vision._

_One of the dream-faces he’d started to think were never real to begin with._

_But when he saw the same recognition mirrored in the dark pools of the boy’s eyes, it struck him like lightning, fast and merciless. He knew then that he had found a piece of himself that was missing all this time. A memory fragment finally sliding back into place. This boy belongs with him, to him. They’re entangled, made to alter each other, across time and space._

_Even now as he holds him, like a lover, like a prize the feeling of it is overwhelming. There’s a threat to it and the promise of something he’d all but forgotten, a concept he never thought he’d find or want again. Home._

_The place where he sleeps, where he hides what he scavenges to survive, is not a home. But it will be one, now that the boy is with him._

_It’s a long run to his spot, through darkness, brushes, sticks and brambles, but that’s not what makes his heart gallop in his chest when he finally sets down his captive in this corner of the woods he’s made his own._

_As the boy slides from his arms to the floor, his limbs spill out and his head lulls to the side, all tension in his body cut, sliced through by the push he gave him with his mind._

_The boy is lovely like this, soft and delicate. He crouches down to admire him, closely, takes his time to watch, to touch. Silky dark hair slip over his fingers, long feathery lashes flutter and full, plump lips part as he stirs in his sleep._

_He wants to worship this boy, with his hands, his mouth, his whole body, wants to take everything he has to give and give him everything he is until they're one._

_It's different, so different from the urge to consume and destroy, that phantom pain that lives in the blackness behind his eyelids when the nights are too dark and too long. This feels right, like the way it's supposed to be._

_He sinks to his knees, parts the outer layer of the boy's clothes and presses his ear against his chest to listen to the slow drum of his heart, eyes closed, bathing in his scent. Unspoiled by fear now, it’s distinctive yet pleasant, clearly masculine but enticing. It fills him with a longing that’s so saccharine, so poisonous it makes him weak, makes him want to die from only a taste of it._

_Easily he gives in, doesn’t see why he should deny himself what he craves so deeply and slips lower. Careful not to wake the boy he slowly pushes up the hem of his sweatshirt to expose his belly._

_His stomach is flat but soft, dusted with a path of dark hair running down from his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his pants. He presses his face against it and inhales his scent deeply, pure and unadulterated, revels in it before he chases after a taste. A press of lips against warm skin first, then a tentative lick with the tip of his tongue which turns into a flat broad stripe that follows the happy trail, tracing it to where the skin is pale and hairless and smooth._

_It’s delicious, makes him delirious with desire, but the boy shudders in his sleep, lets out a soft gasp that startles him. He doesn’t want to wake him, not yet, wants to indulge a little longer in having him like this. All to himself._

_He resists the temptation of doing it again, of opening the buttons of his pants and tasting him down there, where he can smell the musky scent of his sex._

_Instead, he curls up next to him, satisfied for now with his flavor sitting on his tongue, and watches him sleep._

  
  


Steve wakes with a start from with the sensation of falling, of being pushed. For a wild, confused second he grapples at thin air for hold, tries to stop his body’s descent into a bottomless void, only to realize he’s already lying on his back, solid ground beneath him. He blinks a couple of times before he manages to shed the shackles of sleep, heart still thumping in his chest.

It’s dark around him, not the blackness of the night, that last thing he remembers, but the mellow, shadowy twilight of morning. Steve feels around while he waits for his eyes to adjust. He’s lying on something soft, a heap of all kinds of textures. 

There’s the padded outline of a sleeping back, another thing that feels a lot like the handmade quilt he used to sleep with as a kid, the sponge-like texture of a foam filler in the size of a sofa cushion, the slightly scratchy sensation of wool and the small knots of a handknit shawl, a bunch of balled up cotton sheets.

It’s a _nest_ made of all sorts of things pilfered only for their softness, and he is lying in the middle of it.

A flood of memories washes over him in the wake of this realization. The woods, the campfire, flickering lights in the night, blue eyes and a line of white teeth in the beam of his flashlight. 

_Danger. Panic._

Steve’s heart gives a painful, terrified jolt and he jackknives into a sitting position, a scream caught and already dying in his throat when he looks around and sees that what feels like a nightmare is reality.

He’s been kidnapped, dragged off by a dirt-streaked, crazed up Billy Hargrove to wherever or whatever this place is and for god knows what purpose.

Steve’s first instinct is to check for injuries. Frantic, he pats down his front and arms, his legs, but finding none, except for the tripwire cut from last night. It’s a small relief and he’s glad to find that he feels pretty normal too, a bit dizzy from sitting up so fast but not exactly possessed by an interdimensional shadow monster either. His mind is clear and his thoughts feel like his own.

Still, his stomach is twisted in dreadful apprehension and his skin crawling with nerves when he chances another look around.

Steve is in the furthest corner of what must have been a small, wooden building once. Now, only half of it is still standing, the other parts having collapsed into heaps of timber under the weight of the roof and one of the heavy beams that once held it. Thick moss, fern, mushrooms and small saplings are already growing all over the places where the inside of the structure is exposed to the elements. As the sun crawls over the horizon more and more morning light starts coming in. It spills over the corners of the broken roof and paints glowing vertical stripes on the floor where it filters through the wide gaps between the panels of the walls that have warped with dampness and age.

At first, it seems like he’s alone here and Steve relaxes a bit but then, from the corner of his eye, he sees something move in the shadows on the opposite side of the room. 

Steve goes very still, all the blood leaving his face. He _feels_ a pair of eyes on him, their predatory stare pricking the back of his neck, making his arm hairs stand up. Whatever is lurking in the shadows, a dangerous feral man or a hungry blob of flesh made of once-living single organisms that’s just waiting to merge him too in order to grow another limb, Steve does not want to irritate it. 

He moves slowly, inch by inch, as he turns around and scoots back until his shoulders are pressed against the wall. The hammering of his heart is so loud in his ears that he can hardly hear anything else over the sound but Steve tries to keep his breathing calm and steady. 

The shape in the corner shifts again, feet scuffing on the ground as it starts to move closer.

Steve swallows thickly around the lump forming in his throat, tries to wrestle down the fear threatening to overtake him. He’s not a coward but unarmed, defenseless and with the thing blocking his way to the exit he knows very well that the odds are against him. 

“Who…” he whispers voice hoarse and shaking “.... who’s there?”

There’s no reply only more shuffling until suddenly the first stripe of the lights separating the distance between them is broken.

Like a glowing band of silk, it slips over the contour of a shoulder, illuminating the stray wisps of dark blonde curls, a frayed strap of once-white cotton and tanned, dirty skin. There's a flash of silver as the light bounces off an earring. 

Steve holds his breath as the figure peels out of the dark, half-crouched, prowling, to reveal something _savage_. A creature fallen from grace, cast out and back turned on society, on civilization. 

Billy's state is even worse than what the short glimpse Steve got in the woods betrayed. His tank top is only held together by the stitches of the thicker seams, the fabric in between is full of holes and threadbare, died black by what Steve knows was once blood. He's barefoot and the jeans he wears look like they got caught in a shredder. 

Steve can't tell what's more horrifying the familiarity of the figure in front of him or the foreignness of what his high school rival has become. Hargrove's not the boy he uses to know, his body has lost all softness, skin stretched taut over sinewy, bulging muscles. He looks bigger, stronger than before but at the same time _starved_. Long, tangled curls frame his head like a halo of dirty gold, cascade down his neck and over his shoulders, their matted strands obscuring his face. Steve can hardly make out the glint of his eyes behind them.

He shudders at the sight but he doesn’t dare to move or make a sound, fingers balled uselessly into the blanket underneath him, just to hold onto something to ground him in the eye of what looks like madness. 

Billy comes to a halt at the edge of the nest, knuckles of his fingers grazing the outermost piece of fabric and perched on the balls of his feet, painted in light and shadows.

“Hargrove…” the name falls from Steve’s lips in a trembling whisper.

In vain, he waits for a reply, for Billy’s lips to split into a familiar sneer and his raspy voice to shoot a snide remark. The more seconds tick by the more desperately Steve thinks _‘Am I dreaming?’_

All of Steve’s nightmares have been clear and vivid like that, filled with the brilliant colors of fireworks illuminating limbs of raw meat and teeth made from human bones. Billy doesn’t star in every one of them but he’s seen him enough times in his sleep, heard him scream and watched him crumple to the floor to hope, to beg with all his heart that this too is just a figment of his imagination.

Something that his subconscious has cooked-up after reading the magazine and looking at his picture, haunted by the feeling of guilt he didn’t manage to bury along with Billy’s body.

Steve’s hand trembles when he reaches out, slowly, ever so slowly, time turned to molasses. It’s a bad idea, his head is spinning with all the scenarios of what a touch could do but he has to _know_ that he’s not dreaming or hallucinating, he needs to feel that Hargrove is _real_.

Billy flinches, gives a little huff, lips pursing and nostrils flaring for a second when Steve’s fingertips graze the strands of hair that hide his face but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t try to stop him or attack.

Steve grows bolder, leans closer as he brushes the curls aside to look into Billy’s eyes. 

“Oh my god.” he breathes, awe mixing with disbelief as he reveals his face. “It’s really you.”

For a few heartbeats, they stay like that locked in each other’s gaze while the reality of the situation settles in his mind. Steve doesn’t know what makes him do it but before he knows he’s tucking the strands of hair behind Hargrove’s ear, careful, so very careful not to startle him. Billy’s long, dark lashes flutter at the gentle touch. The light coming in from the side is breaking up the color of his eyes into hues of blue and green, the tiniest flecks of gold. They're so bright, so clear looking at Steve with such intensity and curiosity like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

Entranced Steve closes the distance between them, dares himself to touch, to feel Billy's skin on his fingertips and map out the familiar features underneath the grime and dirt, solid and tangible. 

“That’s impossible.” he whispers. “I saw you die.”

Hargrove cocks his head at that but remains silent, gaze trained on Steve’s following his eyes as he studies him, calm but poised, ready to shift into action any second. The demeanor of a relaxed but interested predator, a big jungle cat maybe.

Oddly enough Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hargrove as calm as this. He used to always buzz with excess energy, short-fused, incapable of staying still or holding his tongue, so hungry for attention and trouble. The type of guy who’s got a live wire under his skin and vitriol for blood. This change is even more alarming than his disheveled look.

“Billy... “ Steve tries again, squints at him in suspicion, draws his hand back and waves it in front of Hargrove's nose in an attempt to break this surreal state of half-trance they're trapped in. “What happened to you? Are you still in there?”

Instead of replying, Billy hums, a low rumble coming somewhere deep inside his chest that sounds a lot like a purr. 

Steve tries his best not to flinch in surprise when Billy lifts his arm and mirrors his own gesture. First, he just lightly touches his cheek but then grows bolder, presses down harder and lets his fingers sink into the softness of Steve’s skin. He looks curious, inquisitive and his fingertips are rough and calloused as they travel down in a slow, careful motion. Brows pinched, his mouth slack and red, he gently follows the line of Steve’s jaw and brushes a thumb over his chin, tracing the contour of his lower lip. 

Billy’s touches have never been friendly, never gentle like this before. For a long moment, Steve forgets how to breathe.

A shudder runs down his spine and his stomach flutters when Billy’s hand doesn’t stall but instead continues it’s inspection of his body and slides further down, palm pressed against the column of his throat in a clumsy caress and slips underneath the collar of his sweatshirt. It’s a weird sensation, a touch both gentle and intimate, yet invasive. Steve shifts nervously, tries to shrug off the hand but it follows where he moves. 

"Uhm…" he says as Billy's hand dips lower, first runs over his shoulder and then his collarbone stretching the fabric of his sweater "What are you doing? Hargrove?! Hey, do you _recognize_ me?" 

He curls a hand around Billy's wrist and holds him there, gives it a determined little tug. He’s decidedly uneasy now, pulse speeding and sweat starting to form on his brow. It's enough to make Billy stop his exploration for a moment but he blinks at him, confused and followed by a disgruntled little noise. 

"You gotta…" Steve squirms when Hargrove curls his free hand around the back of his neck instead of letting him go and tries to pull him closer "You gotta stop that and start talking to me, buddy! You're freaking me out!"

Something, this whole thing actually, is _off_ . This isn't Billy, this isn't _right_. Steve made a horrible mistake, he should've run when he had the chance. Panic stirs again in his chest because Hargrove doesn't let go when he tries to wriggle from his grasp, doesn't budge when Steve pushes at his chest. His grip on him is like a vice, strong enough to crush his spine and the more Steve struggles the more irritated his face grows. 

"Billy!" Steve shouts, desperate and locked in his hold "Let GO!" 

He shoves at Hargrove with all he’s got but suddenly the hands on him are gone and Steve slams back with the force of his own move. The ground rushes up to hit his back and knock all the air from his lungs as he goes down hard enough to send his head and vision spinning. 

The next thing he knows, Hargrove is on him, kneeling above him and caging him in, one knee on each side of Steve’s hips. His hands are everywhere, his face, his chest in his hair and slipping under his sweater. There’s a rough palm and long fingernails scraping over his skin, rucking up the fabric as he pushes up, running his hand across his belly to his chest along the ladder of his ribs, while the other stays on his hip, holds him down with the force of a hydraulic press. 

For a single moment Steve lets it happen, just lies there, dazed, motionless and stunned as he watches Billy hover above him. But then Billy dives down mouth open revealing tongue and teeth, and Steve’s trance breaks. 

He screams, guttural and primal, sure that Hargrove's face will split open like the petals of a flower and reveal the monster that his hiding underneath the meat suit it is wearing. That he’s about to get devoured or meet a fate worse than that. 

The scream finally sets his fight reflex free and he brings his elbow up as fast and as hard as he can. He gets him good. The blow connects with the center of Billy's face and Steve can hear the loud crunch of bone on bone as he drives his elbow in, in, in. 

Hargrove howls in pain snaps his head back and buries his injured face in his palm for a second, but before Steve can escape from his grasp he's on him again, locking both of Steve’s wrist in one hand terrifying ease. Steve yelps in pain as his bones creak under the iron grip when Billy wrestles him back onto the ground, pinning him there. 

This is it, he thinks this is how he ends torn apart by a guy that is more animal than man. He grits his teeth and waits for the fatal blow, determined to look Hargrove in the eyes when his last moment comes.

But when Billy’s face swims back into his vision, Steve freezes. It's not what he expected to see, there’s no aggression in Billy’s face only confusion and pain. His nose his dripping a rich, brilliant red and his eyes are spilling over with tears, fat and wet falling from his cheeks.

Steve lies there stunned into silence and watches the blood and tears like a miracle as they hit him. One drop, then two, then three. Warm like summer rain. Warm like Billy’s body where their skin touches.

“Billy…” he whispers and the grip on his wrists loosens as he feels the other body above him shudder with a loud sob. Then Billy's weight and his heat leave him. 

He withdraws to the edge of the nest and cowers there, defensive, almost scared. When Steve props himself up on his elbows he retreats another few inches, sniffles miserably and wipes his face, mixing blood and tears and dirt. His lower lip pursed in something that looks like a pout, like he's _sulking._

He looks so young, he's just a boy. Just a boy like Steve. Sad and lonely. 

It dawns on Steve that whatever Billy tried, it wasn't to hurt him. Human contact, a friendly touch. Steve can’t even begin to imagine how desperately Billy must have yearned for it. Desperately enough to bring him here, possibly the first person from his old life that he’s recognized. Steve is pretty sure he broke his nose for it. 

Another, saner part of Steve, the one that’s responsible for his sense of self-preservation thinks this right now is his chance to get away to get up and run, save himself. But he’s never been good at listening to it and he doesn’t move. He _can’t_ move all he can do is half sit, half lie on the nest, glued to the spot, and stare. 

Stare at Billy who's bleeding real hot red human blood and crying real human tears. Knowing they're running down his own cheeks too. 

The monsters from the Upside Down don't cry, they don't bleed red. Those eyes that are giving him a look of utter betrayal are not the empty doll eyes of a mindless drone. They're so full of hurt and so wet, so blue Steve thinks he must drown in them. It’s utterly heartbreaking to see a guy like Billy Hargrove cry like a child.

And Steve thinks that this, whatever Billy has become, whatever happened to him, his actions, it's his fault too. It's all their fault. That they let him down, let him die. Never tried to save him. 

And he thinks of Will and the way he's become a fragile, brittle thing since the day he got possessed, thinks about how Billy must've been out there all these months but nobody cared, nobody looked for him. Thinks about Max who doesn't want to make any more mistakes and his own regrets. His sleepless nights, the fading scar under his lower lip, the way it had hurt to look at Billy's yearbook picture. 

He thinks about how he never thought he'd get a chance to make things right again, to feel normal again to sleep and not dream of a boy he knew dying a gruesome death. 

"I'm sorry." Steve croaks throat so tight he almost can't speak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." 

All thoughts of leaving are forgotten momentarily because Billy doesn't deserve a fate like this, abandoned and forgotten. Nobody does. 

Steve knows the universe doesn't deal out second chances like that a lot and someone has to try and save him this time. Someone has to care. 

Steve thinks he wants to be that someone, thinks maybe he can earn his stay in this world and a way out of that limbo he's stuck in of regrets and guilt and nightmares and a future that feels like it ended before it began. Maybe if he can save Billy this time, he can save himself. 

  


_Physical pain never lasts. He’s not immune to it but it’s become a fleeting thing. Nothing more than a bit of discomfort, strong sometimes but quickly shed and forgotten. The sting in his nose is already dulling, replaced by the pressure and the grinding sound of bone readjusting when the boy scrambles to his knees and reaches out for him again._

_"I… i didn't mean to hurt you.” he rambles “You just scared me a bit, there buddy. Are you, ok?”_

_The boy’s face looks apologetic his voice sounds like it too, but he doesn’t trust the outstretched hand, evades it when he shuffles closer._

_He’s not scared, knows that he could snap his captive in half if he had to, could simply hold him down and have his way with him if he wanted to. But the smell of the boy’s fear still lingers, sharp and acidic in his nostrils when he breathes it in. It overpowers all the other lovely notes of his natural scent and he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong to frighten him like that._

_Screaming and recoiling from his touch when he tried everything to make him understand that he’s safe. Safe and close to him where he belongs._

_The rejection hurts more than any broken bone ever could, makes the hot water flow from his eyes like it sometimes does when the nights are too dark and lonely and the echoes in his head are too loud._

_The boy fumbles something from the folds of his clothes, a white square, and holds it out._

_“You’ve got like, blood and snot all over you. Lemme… lemme have a look at that? If you don’t hurt me, I’m not gonna hurt you either, ok?” he narrows the distance between them touches the cloth to his own chin and then gestures at him. “We’re cool now, aren’t we? It’s alright, Billy.”_

_This is a dilemma. The boy won’t stop talking like he expects a reply and while he understands him, understands that the sounds he makes have meaning and what most of them are supposed to communicate, he can’t remember how to move his tongue and use his voice to make sounds that match. It’s like there’s a wall in his head that his thoughts run against when he tries to turn them into… words._

_He frowns, tries to push through the mental barrier with all the force of his mind, to make it crumble and fall. But all that earns him is a flash of pain searing through his head like a white-hot blade, a million disembodied voices shouting at once, reechoing in the cavern of his skull until his ears ring. With an agonized groan he cradles his head in his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, mind spinning. He wants it to stop, stop, stop._

_A cool hand lands on the side of his face, a thumb brushes gently over his cheek and a soft cooing noise chases the choir of screams away. They fizzle out to a quiet hum until they’re gone completely._

_When he opens his eyes again, the boy is close, dabbing at his face with a corner of the cloth._

_“It’s ok. Don’t be sacred. It’s ok.”_

_Those big doe eyes on him are gentle now, concerned even, and it softens something inside his chest, makes him lean into the touch and the sweet relief it brings him._

_“This isn’t some kind of act.” the boy mumbles, while he continues to clean his face, gentle but determined “You’re not trying to mess with me, you’re really… The mindflayer fried your brain or something.”_

_He keeps on dabbing and wiping at his face like he’s trying to remove the traces of their scuffle and he lets him, all to needy for any kind of touch._

_“What am I gonna do with you, hm? Why’d you take me here? Where the hell are we even?” the boy shakes his head “Guess, I’ll have to figure it out by myself, huh? You should’ve picked someone smarter than me, Hargrove.”_

_With a sigh he lets his shoulders hang while his hand holding the bloodied cloth stalls and hovers a few inches away from his skin. It’s pale, slender and beautiful, like the rest of him but around his wrists, an ugly red mark is blossoming in the shape of thick, large fingers._

_His stomach twists at that sight. He never meant to hurt him, to mark him like that. Other things don’t heal the way he does, they break and die easily. It makes him nauseous to think he could’ve broken and killed him too if he’d been just a little more careless with his strength._

_He wishes he could soothe it, heal it and surges forward with that impulse to press his mouth against the inside of the boy’s wrist. He keeps his hands to himself this time, doesn’t want to spook him again, when he’s shy like a deer. Only his lips touch where the skin is impossibly soft and where his pulse flutters._

_The boy’s breath hitches as he lets his tongue slip along the red mark and feels how the skin heats underneath the touch and goosebumps form along his arm. He wants to lick him all over, give him pleasure until he forgets pain even exists but the boy withdraws his hand quickly, cheeks glowing red._

_“Uhm.” he clears his throat “It’s uh… it’s fine. Don’t worry. Just a bruise.”_

_He lets his hands fall into his lap, twists the cloth between fingers. He’s nervous, flustered maybe but not sacred, a little improvement compared to before._

_“You’re kind of a lot, you know that?” the boy mumbles after a few moments in which his big dark eyes search his face. He laughs, once, before he continues “Then again, you’ve always been pushy, haven’t you? How about we do it right this time and start with introductions first? That sounds… uhm… like a good thing to start with. I’m Steve.”_

_There’s an eager look on his face as he presses his hand against his chest and repeats the last word loud and clear like its something incredibly important “STEVE.”_

_Next, he takes his wrist and moves his hand so he mirrors the gesture, both of them sitting across from each other, hands on their chests._

_“Your name is Billy.” the boy says and bobs his head “BILLY. Can you, give me a sign if you understand that, Billy?”_

_Names, he is talking about names. Another thing he’d forgotten about that is brought back by this boy, another way in which he makes him a little more whole again._

_He’s been calling him by his name all this time he realizes, and warms with delight._

_//I am Billy.// he thinks and it feels right, sounds right in his head //I am Billy, I am someone. He is Steve and he knows me.//_

_With a small, pleased hum he starts to bob his head as well and pats his own chest._

_He is Billy and across from him, Steve smiles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, you're getting somewhere Billy! Pop the champagne! It's gonna be such a relief to use names in his PoV from now on! XDD
> 
> I really struggled with this chapter to the point that I don't know anymore if it's any good but I tried my best, as always. Either way, now the story can start advancing for real and because I had to rearrange and cut some parts from this chapter the next one is already half written. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! If you did a kudos or a comment would be super appreciated! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @highon85 if you’re into occasional Harringrove and 80s aesthetics posts. :)


End file.
